


The Winnower of Death

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Lies, Misdirection, and Terrible Truth [12]
Category: Mythology - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: GFY, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will not acknowledge the possibility of defeat, or she has already lost. And Anat does not lose to anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winnower of Death

_Flash of light, a long-armed sweep of the spear. Blood blue staining the blade as a soul fades to nothing under her onslaught. They have never learned her epithets, these who wither under her power now._

"Teach me." Loki has been reading in the library for days, and only now has she given him permission to enter the very least of her rooms, where the furnishings are no more alive than the rest of the palace.

She watches him for a long moment, tilting her head. "The life-magic or the battle-magic, young trickster?" She should not be offering either, and El would beat her if he knew. He is jealous of the power they hold here, different from other realms like unto theirs. Asgard, Olympus, the strange world of those who like best those about the Nile.

"Both."

_A movement flickers at the edge of her vision, and she twists, lifting her shield to deflect the shot of another of the aliens they fight. A step toward it, and a narrowing of her eyes, and life drains from it, life and water and all that holds it bound together, scattering dust to the wind and soul to the abyss._

Frost feathers the edges of the grass they have been sat upon, that she has been teaching him a simple trick upon. He had difficulty mastering it, as if the magic resists his pull. That El might be right not to teach others this magic she has learned never crosses Anat's mind, even now.

That it is not done well for her young friend, that does come to her thoughts. She watches him, as he frowns at the frost with something more akin to dread than confusion. "Meet me at the gate at nightfall, young trickster. I think I might have a better place to teach you, that will work with your magic."

_Ice swirls around her, crashing into the alien behind her who would have taken a swipe at her back. Her attention has been taken briefly by a tumble of red and gold, hand outstretched to catch him. She will not release her claim on his soul, not even to death._

"You will return him." She stands at the gate of a palace not her father's, one hand wrapped tightly about a spear, staring up defiantly at the one who stands on the wall. Mot is nearly as old as El, and has long had dominion over death. She knows it's her brother's own fault for challenging him, but she cannot simply let him be dead.

"And why should I listen to a girl?" Mot is watching her with amused eyes, not believing the threat she is to him. She will make him regret that arrogance, if she must.

"You will return him, or I will find him and take him home myself." She will not acknowledge the possibility of defeat, or she has already lost. And Anat does not lose to anyone.

_The battle does not seem to end, though she knows the heroes of Earth tire. Still, the alien creatures come, and they fight. They must fight, and they will win. Sooner or later, the one they wish to emerge will come. And then, then, there will be a fight as there were in days long dead._


End file.
